I try to shake free of Saint, but he doesn’t let me. A part of me is relieved. There’s a comfort and safety in his grasp.
Wide blue eyes with long lashes focus on me. “Just breathe, sweetheart.”
“Who’s going to remind me to breathe tomorrow?” I say, trying to ease the tension I feel in my chest.
He smiles. “You need me to text you a reminder? Send me your new phone number when you get one.”
Urgh. The idea of being in my room without a phone ... What if they come back? What if I cry for help and no one hears? What if—
“We’ll go get you a new phone before I leave.”
“You need to stop reading my mind.”
Saint simply winks.
I knock on the door of my elderly neighbor, Mrs. Mantle.
“It’ll take her a minute,” I whisper, even though the volume of the TV show playing in her apartment reveals she’s going deaf.
“Rose, sweetheart.” She looks up at Saint, then back to me. “Is everything okay?”
“I locked myself out of my apartment and wondered if I could have my spare key.”
“Of course. Of course.”
She shuffles down the hallway to a dresser.
I feel Saint step up behind me. “Smart idea giving her your key.” His breath tickles my ear and neck, making me shiver. The warmth of his chest seeps through to my back as I wrestle with fledgling feelings I’m uncertain I’m ready to act on.
“It can sometimes take ages to get the superintendent of the building to show up and let you in. I didn’t want to be caught without other options.”
Mrs. Mantle walks slowly back to the door. “There you go, sweetie.”
When I open my door and move to step inside, Saint places his hand against my stomach and pulls the gun out from the holster beneath his zip-up sweater.
“Wait a minute,” he whispers.
Cautiously, he nudges the door open as I eye the hallway nervously. Am I better inside where Saint has a gun? Or in the hallway where anyone can appear?
I wait for a minute like he asked, and then I follow him in. Being alone out here scares me more than being inside with him, even if someone else is there.
“Jesus Christ, Briar. I said to wait outside.” He holsters his gun and walks over to me. “There’s no one here.”
I glance around my home, taking in the placement of items on my desk, on my shelves. The cutlery drawer that is a pain in the ass to close, unless you know the trick about sliding it to the left as you shut it, sits ever so slightly ajar.
“Is everything okay?” Saint asks.
I shake my head. “Someone has been here. Quietly. They haven’t destroyed the place. But nothing is where I left it.”
He looks around the room with another set of eyes. “I’m guessing you keep those cushions in a particular order.”
I look over to the sofa, where the cushions aren’t how I like them. “You’re correct.”
“They’ve been through your apartment but didn’t want to draw attention to themselves or give your neighbors a reason to call the police.” His arm slips over my shoulder, and I lean into him, taking comfort from his strength. “What do you need to make it right?”
It feels a little hopeless. “I don’t know. I’m not sure it will ever feel right again.”
11
